Ludvig patiently sat on the floor, with a strange look on his face.

Günther entered, just as confused."You're…avake. Already."

"Da. Had good sleep. Why so serious, doctor?" Ludvig wanted to scratch the back of his head, but Gunther immediately walked over to him and pulled his right arm away from his head.

"It is best…if you were not to scratch zere." Günther did a quick examination of Ludvig's wound. It was just as open and gaping as before, but for some reason Ludvig was mostly fine. He applied three sets of bandages, rolling them around Ludvig's head. Patiently.

"You fell, und injured your head. Do not touch it or ze bandages, for your ownen good. Hmmph…It is like ze days in Teufort, only zen zere is real risk of dying. Permanentally." Gunther got on his knees, and shone a light into Ludvig's eyes. "Zat seems normal. Gut. Can you valk?"

"Think so." Ludvig reached for one of the boxes and lifted himself up. He looked a bit confused at first, and unsure in his movemtns, but quickly he came to his senses.

"Ze ozzers are vaiting outside. Let us move."

"Well I'll be danged." Dell smiled. "Did you kritzkrieg his heart, or somethin'? What happened to the whole coma thing?"

"Coma? What is coma?" Ludvig sat down next to the fire, and reached for one of the cans.

"Nothing. Ze important zing is that you are in ordnung." Günther signaled at Patrick and Dell to shut up.

"But ve need to talk about somezing. If I had not acted, Ludvig would have been in big schit. Vhat if I die? Vhat zen? Ze next time you vould get injured you would not be able to heal yourselves und others. I vill have to teach you all basic medicine, at ze least."

"Medicking is not my thing, doc. I know about mechanics, not humans."

"Und you call yourself an ohmnidisciplinery scientist? Zere is allways ze risk zat I could die, und you should be prepared for zat."

"Can't really argue with that. But, Günther, can you at least wait until we're completely away from society?"

"I thought we were. That's why you stopped, right?" Dell looked extremely worried.

"There is a small town not much more than two miles back. It was the last town for quite a while, and by that I mean hundreds of miles. It should be safe, since I doubled our minimum distance to not attract any more creatures. But as it happens more than you'd like to, all your planning can suddenly explode into nothing. Always be prepared for anything."

"That is good plan. So you were preparing for zombies for years?" Ludvig opened the cup of soup by violently shoving his shotgun into the lid and breaking it open. With one mighty gulp he swallowed the contents of the can like any of the others would drink a cola bottle. Eagerly he reached for Günthers can and drank it as well.

He eats like normal. Günther smiled to himself. So far he noticed little signs of any kind of brain damage. But the scientist inside him knew that even if there were no direct symptoms there could still be a illness hiding inside your patient. He would have to monitor him closely.

"Excuse me, but I have to go check up on the vehicles." Dell rose to his feet and straightened his hardhat. "I need to be sure that nothing broke, even if it doesn't seem like it."

He opened his toolbox, and pulled out a set of screwdrivers. He eagerly laid them on the ground in front of Patrick's van, and opened the bonnet. He reached inside his toolbox again to pull out a modified mini sentry, even smaller than the usual mini-sentry. He placed it on his shoulder and pressed the large blue button on top. The tini-sentry produced a bright but small beam of light that shone with an oddly white colour.

Günther quietly observed Dell from a distance. The way he worked, removed parts, straightened them with his wrench and placed them back inside strongly reminded himself of how he treated patients on the operating table.

A pipe inside the engine released some steam. Dell coughed and pulled his head back. "Son of a…." He pulled out his wrench and hammered the pipe until the flow of steam stopped. "I can fix that." He said to himself, reassuringly. Suddenly Günther focused on the conversation between Patrick and Ludvig that was happening not far away.

"So this crocodile comes at me, it's jaw snapping at me. I reach for my rifle, but it stormed at me and put it's teeth into my right arm. I wanted to yell from the pain, but I realized I had no other choice but to grab my kukiri and whack it's brains in. I cleaned meself up, skinned the crocodile, and put it on a shield. And of course saved some spare skin for Mom's birthday. She still carries her leather purse around to this very day."

"What is crocodile?" Ludvig seemed confused.

"Do you really not know what a crocodile is? Here, I'll draw it for you." Sniper used his kukiri to draw lines in the sand that formed the ugliest-looking drawing Ludvig had ever seen.

"Crocodile is big monster." Ludvig didn't quite know what to make of the drawing, but he trusted Patrick enough to believe his story.

"They're big, but they're nothing compared to an elephant. Trust me, you do not want to end up on the wrong side of one of those. You think you can take some bullets, well, let me tell you, it cost me at least 15 shots before I managed to down one of them. And then you've got the bloody group coming after you if you're lucky. Thankfully though the rest of em ran away after I filled two of 'em with bullet holes."

"I fought bear once. It lost." Ludvig added.

Patrick nodded. "What kind of bear are we talking about?"

"Bear bear."

"A bear…bear?"

"The bear was a kind of bear. Da."

Patrick scratched the back of his head. He used to mistake Ludvig for simply being stupid, but now, the more he talked with him the more he felt as if Ludvig didn't quite grasp the English language as good as Günther did. Not that Günther was so wonderful at talking English, but when you talked to him you could always count on him understanding you. With Ludvig…not so much.

"Allrighty then. That should do it. " Dell packed his tools again and put the box inside his truck. "Phew, I feel all burnt out. I'm going for the night, fellas."

"I vill be right behind. I need to do one final check on Ludvig."

"Is not needed, doctor."

"Ja, it is. Vho is ze doctor, du or ich?" Günther smiled as he gently poked Ludvig.

"You are."

"Good. You may deliver commentary vhen you have completed a medical education. For now, just be silent as I unwrap zese."Günther walked over Ludvig's head and gently tore away at the tape around it. As he looked to observe the wound he quickly noticed that he needed a better light.

"Let us go inside. I need to have more light then zis campfeuer." Günther pulled Ludvig onto his feet and into the van.

So there he sat. Patrick used a stick to poke the fire, occasionally feeding it with another log or two. There was no sound, but the cracking sounds of fire and the soothing desert wind surrounding him. Without noticing it Patrick was smiling. He hadn't felt such silence in quite a while, or so it felt. For the first time in quite a while, there was…peace. Tranquility.

As if he was back in the outback, hunting on his own. Nothing but a knife and a gun to survive. And how he loved to survive, how he loved to hunt, and how he loved the silence at night. Patrick tossed another log in the fire.

But hunting didn't keep the money rolling in. Mom and Dad needed more cash to keep the farm running, and he knew they wouldn't make it on their own. He switched careers.

From shooting a crocodile to shooting some Russian smuggler. It wasn't hard to get his first connections in the mercenary world. A few kills on wanted outlaws did the trick. Before long he was traveling over the world taking out targets left and right. When mom asked where the money came from, Patrick told her. When he told Dad all he received was insults such as "crazed gunman" and "insane murderer."

Patrick sighed. He knew he'd never make it on medical school or some stiff-teethed place that trains lawyers and liars. But Dad kept on pushing, even after he kept sending them the money they needed to keep the farm alive. "You should be somebody, not a murderer for hire!" The insults alone made him go home less frequently then he used to. But he kept coming nonetheless. Couldn't leave mom behind, or so he said to himself.

Patrick tossed his stick into the fire. "I'm coming, mom. Pretty soon." He put out the fire before he went to bed.


Now that we have that in the way, let me just say I left it in as a little extra.

"I agree, most modern soviet literature is unreadable propaganda, mate. I'm not saying that Tsarist Russia was a great place to live, but your literature definitely took a turn downwards after the revolution."

"The level of Tolstoy is not reached since his death. But, al literature is created to support the revolution. Not all Sovjet books are propaganda."